Very Good Friends
by Joodiff
Summary: Grace is considering fleeing from the scene of the crime when Boyd appears. Complete. Enjoy!


**DISCLAIMER:** I own nothing.

 **A/N:** _This one's a response to another random prompt from Got Tea for a short ficlet._ :)

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 **Very Good Friends**

by Joodiff

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"Fuck," she mutters, startling herself slightly with the harsh imprecation even as she stares at the chaos before her. "What the hell am I going to do now?"

It's a good question, given that it's likely that Spencer Jordan will be back from lunch in less than twenty minutes, and the entire contents of the top drawer of his desk – sacrosanct territory – plus most of a stone-cold mug of coffee are now spread out together across several square feet of the CCU's squad room floor. A quick and furtive glance around confirms her initial hope that there's no possibility that anyone has witnessed the minor disaster, and for a moment Grace is sorely tempted to abandon all her principles and simply flee the scene of the crime. After all, she thinks, it's not _entirely_ her fault. She only wanted to borrow a damn stapler, for heaven's sake, and it's not _her_ fault that most of the unit's furniture has seen far better days, leading to drawers that stick, desks that wobble, and chairs that are so uncomfortable that –

"Oops," a familiar male voice comments behind her, almost causing her to drop the rescued mug she's still clutching, and thus the very last of the cold coffee. "Had some sort of unfortunate mishap, have we?"

How the hell he can appear without warning, as if from bloody nowhere, whenever it's least convenient is beyond her. Always has been. Glaring over her shoulder at him, she says, "What do _you_ think?"

Moving to stand next to her, the shirt-sleeved Boyd puts his hands in his trouser pockets and regards the mess with the kind of mild, placid interest that makes her want to strangle him. "I think," he all-but drawls, "that you're going to be in a _lot_ of trouble when Spence gets back. You know how he feels about people rifling through his desk drawers. Wasn't it just last week that he – "

"Yes, yes, thank you," Grace interrupts, not in the mood to suffer his smugness. "Haven't you got somewhere more interesting and important to be?"

Dark eyes that show more than a hint of unworthy amusement study her with polite serenity. "Not at the moment, no."

"That was a rhetorical question, Boyd. One that roughly translates as 'go away and let me get on with sorting out this damned mess'."

"I see." The steady, amused gaze doesn't falter. "You don't want my help, then?"

Immediately suspicious, she asks, "What are you after?"

"Nothing," he tells her, hands still deep in pockets. Looking at the floor again, he inquires, "What on earth were you trying to do?"

She sighs. "Borrow his stapler. Someone's pinched mine, Kat's is broken, and yours is empty. I checked."

His head lifts and he stares straight at her, eyebrows raised. "Oh? So, you'd happily pilfer _my_ stuff ahead of Spence's? I really don't know how to feel about that, Grace."

"It's all your fault anyway," she accuses, neglecting to point out that _his_ was the very first desk she attempted to raid.

Boyd shakes his head. "Office stationery isn't my remit. We have Laura-On-The-Second-Floor for that sort of thing."

"It's _your_ fault for insisting on furnishing the place with CID's dilapidated cast-offs instead of spending the money to – "

"I'm detecting a distinct note of underlying resentment," he cuts in, clearly unperturbed, "but since we're _very good friends_ , I'll ignore it and offer to rescue you anyway."

"I don't need rescuing," she growls back at him, bristling so much at the notion that she forgets to smirk at his heavy and deliberate emphasis. "I'll just clear up as best I can, and when Spence gets back from lunch I'll simply explain to him what happened."

"All right. Good luck with that." A slight pause. "Well, I'll go away, then, shall I?"

He really is one of the most insufferable, infuriating men she's ever met. "Yes."

"Alternatively…"

Grace knows that tone. Oh, yes, she most definitely does. Narrow-eyed, she prompts, "What?"

Still superbly nonchalant, Boyd shrugs. "I could call him. Tell him I've changed my mind, and I want him and Kat to go straight to Southwark to interview Evans instead of coming back here."

Regarding him with the healthy mistrust of long and bitter experience, she asks, "What's it going to cost me?"

He gives her a wounded, innocent sort of look. "You're getting cynical in your old age, Grace; you know that, don't you?"

"Must be something to do with the company I keep. Well?"

"Well, there is _one_ little thing, as it happens…"

"I knew it!" Grace declares, not bothering to hide her triumph. "Honestly, Boyd, you're _so_ transparent sometimes."

Extracting his phone from his pocket, he holds it up, his expression meaningful. "Do you know what he said he'd do to me when he caught me thieving from his envelope stash? Let's just say it was by no means an appropriate thing to threaten to do to a superior officer."

"Ah, but he likes me," she crows. "That's the difference."

"Not enough to forgive you for spilling coffee over all his neat little plastic boxes of paperclips and drawing pins." A savage grin. "Much less his beloved collection of different-coloured highlighter pens. One in every single colour, no less, Grace. Paid for out of his _own_ pocket. Blood has been spilled for less."

"All right, all right." Grace grudgingly surrenders, scowling up at him. "Make the damned call. What do you want in exchange?"

Boyd's answering smile somehow manages to be simultaneously heart-stopping and utterly angelic. "Guess."

She really does know him very well. And they really are _very_ good friends. Smirking, she says, "Naughty, naughty boy."

A single eyebrow lifts as he raises his phone. "Well…?"

It's Friday, the seductive promise held by weekend ahead is looking better and better by the second, and all things considered, it's really not a difficult decision to make.

 _\- the end -_


End file.
